


The Sounds of Silence

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Memories, Memory Alteration, Prison, Will Wins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 13,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1285177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silence helps him concentrate. Silence helps him get all the pieces back in the right place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence All Around

There was nothing but silence all around him.

In some ways, it was soothing, peaceful. It was what he needed, the only way he could concentrate. It was the only way he could bring back memories of the past, memories that disturbed him but that he knew he had to access to have a complete picture.

There were still pieces missing, but Will was sure that at some point, he would find them again. He had to. If he didn't, he would be an incomplete person.

At least he was out of jail now, and Hannibal was there. Where he belonged. He'd been caught, finally, and convicted of heinous crimes. And Will was a free man, exonerated, and profusely apologized to for the mistake that had been made.

Though he wasn't sure that any apology would ever be enough.

He'd been through his own personal hell during the time he'd been in jail. He wondered if he would ever lose the feeling of walls closing in on him.

He didn't think so. He was sure that the feeling would always be there, lingering under his skin, in the back of his mind, ready to jump out at him. He wondered ff the panic attacks he now suffered from would ever go away, if he'd ever move beyond the past.

He was irrevocably marked.

But at times like this, when there was silence all around him and felt calm, he was sur that at some point, he _would_ be able to put the past behind him.

He hoped so. He needed to do that. He couldn't live in the past forever, especially now that he actually had a future again, a life to be lived.

No thanks to that evil reptile he'd thought was his friend.

He hdn't been to see Hannibal in jail, and he wasn't going to. That was only going to disturb him, and more than that, make him angry. Every time he faced that bastard, he thought of all that he'd needlessly been through at his hands.

It was hard to believe that he'd been fooled by such evil, that it had managed to pull the wool over his eyes. Well, the scales had fallen away now. For good.

He saw everything so clearly now.

Well, _almost_ everything. There were still a few pieces that hadn't fallen into place, but Will was confident that his memory would come together, that it would knit itself back into one piece and that he'd eventually have all the answers.

He took one deep breath, then another. Around the room, the quiet breathing of the dogs resonated in the air, soothing and comforting him.

The silence was like a warm cocoon, holding him close and protecting him. There was no loud, strident voice in his head, telling him what he should believe, inundating him with lies that contradicted all of his memories. His mind was clear.

And slowly but surely, he was finding the whole truth.


	2. All For the Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will refuses to regret any of the changes in his life.

There had been so many changes in his life.

Will took another deep breath, closing his eyes and letting himself sink into the silence around him .This was a silence that he felt comfortable with.

It wasn't like the silence he'd dealt with when he was locked up; that had been the silence of despair, the quiet of a man who was losing hope even as he tried to cling to the idea that somehow, someone was going to believe him at some point.

That was the hope that had kept him going. The absolute conviction that somewhere, Hannibal was going to slip up and expose himself for the monster that he was.

And he'd done so. Finally.

He had been too sure of himself; he'd laid too many clues, unable to resist teasing the FBI. Surprisingly, he had been the one to provide the evidence that led to Will's exoneration, proving once and for all that Will was no psychopath, and certainly no killer.

But it had been too late to save Will's friendships. He would never trust any of those people again. they'd believed _him_ to be the evil monster, not Hannibal.

Thinking he was insane was no excuse for their loss of faith in him.

If his so-called friends didn't believe fully in his innocence, if they were so blinded by false "evidence" that they believed he was a murder, then they weren't his friends.

He didn't need them in his life, and he didn't want to be around them. So he had ruthlessly cut a lot of people out of his life for good.

In a way, he missed them. But not really.

They had never been such a huge part of his daily life that it was easy to slip back into the life he had led before his incarceration. He was back to teaching, doing what he loved.

But he wasn't working much in the field any more. Oh, they were still consulting him, but he wasn't making any appearances at crime scenes -- at least not when people were there. Jack didn't want anyone to know that his bloodhound was still on the job.

He wasn't back into the FBI's good graces enough for that.

But he was being slipped into crime scenes after everyone had gone, after the evidence had been collected, before the bodies had been taken away.

It was a change -- but not one that bothered him overly much. He had never wanted the notoriety. He wasn't Jack. He didn't want to look good to the public. He simply wanted to save lives. And that was something he was fortunately still allowed to do.

Yes, there had been a lot of changes. But so far, all of them were for the better. He wasn't going to regret them, or look back and wish things could have been different.

After all, there were still many more changes yet to come.


	3. Seeing Clearly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feels as though he's finally seeing the past months in perspective for the first time.

He couldn't let himself show any sign of weakness. If he did, then the wolves would be at his throat. They would be all over him, swarming in for the kill.

He wasn't going to let anyone see a weakness. He was going to build his walls so high and so strong that this time, no one would get through them. Hannibal had been able to do that before, and even Jack, in some ways. But this time, no one would see behind them.

No one was going to get into his mind again, Will promised himself.

He'd had enough of being used, enough of being treated like a plaything and not a human being. He'd had more than enough of being manipulated.

That wasn't going to happen again. He'd promised himself that he would never listen to Hannibal's lies and persuasions again, and he meant it. He wasn't going to let that monster be a weakness for him any more. He'd turn his back on any of Hannibal's blandishments.

It would be easier to do than Hannibal might anticipate.

After all, he knew now that he wasn't facing a man, but a monster of the highest degree. There was nothing even remotely human about Hannibal Lecter.

Oh, he might _look_ human. But once you stripped away the masks, the protective covering, all that was left was a monstrous reptilian .... _thing_.

He could never look at Hannibal as a man again.

Now he was nothing but a loathsome creature, the embodiment of evil. Will marveled that he hadn't been able to see it before, that he hadn't had some inkling of the kind of unrepentant evil that lurked beneath the mask of urbane charm.

But somehow, for some reason, he hadn't. His empathy had failed him there, maybe because it was simply too close to the source of that evil.

Still, he saw clearly now. And he would never be fooled again.

He wasn't going to let Hannibal's words, no matter what they might be, get inside his head. Hannibal would never manipulate him again; he would never take Will's weaknesses and use them against him. He'd gotten away with it once, but Will was older and wiser now.

Hannibal would never be allowed to put him through such hell again. It had been done once, and that was one too many times.

Never again. This time, he was sure of himself.

Will took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He was going to speak to Hannibal in just a few hours, for the first time since all of this had happened. And this time, all of his armor would be in place. There would be no chink of weakness showing through unprotected. Not now, and not ever.


	4. Last Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, Will is determined to get the answers he so desperately seeks.

It felt odd to be on this side of the cage.

He was so used to being the one in the cage, the prisoner who was only allowed to see people and have any kind of company under certain conditions, Will thought to himself, taking a deep breath. It was going to feel strange to be the one who had his freedom.

He still wasn't used to it yet. He still felt like a prisoner in some ways, and he would until everything was clear in his head and all the pieces were back together.

There was no telling how long that might take.

Putting those pieces back into place was going to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done, especially if Hannibal wouldn't give him the clues.

And he seriously doubted that his adversary would do that. Hannibal had enjoyed taking him apart piece by piece far too much to help him put those pieces back together again. Hannibal only wanted to destroy, not to create. He couldn't be counted on for help.

But Hannibal wasn't the only one who could manipulate.

Will was sure that if he could spend enough time with Hannibal, if they circled each other in their civilized little ritual dance, he'd get the answers he needed.

Hannibal would never tell him what he wanted to know if he simply asked questions, so he had to find a way to get what he needed obliquely, by stealth and cunning.

He would do it. He had no other choice.

He hated to feel that he was being so devious. That was Hannibal's way, not his. He'd rather just be able to ask questions and get straight answers, but with Hannibal, that would never happen. Hannibal enjoyed that dance of speculation and imbalance far too much.

All right, so he would give Hannibal what he wanted .They would dance around each other, feinting again and again with words instead of swords.

But this time, Will wold come out on the winning side.

This time, _he_ would be the one to get the best of Hannibal. No matter how long it took, he _would_ have the answers he so desperately sought.

Taking another deep breath, Will closed his eyes, hoping that he would up to the challenge that was ahead of him. He'd never been good at fencing with Hannibal, but this time, he _had_ to be the victor. He had to get answers, and this was the only way.

The first steps of their last dance were finally beginning.


	5. Winning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is determined to be the winner of his first confrontation with Hannibal.

"Hello, Will. It's good to see you again."

"I can't say the same." Will crossed his arms over his chest as he stood in front of the cage where Hannibal sat, calmly staring at the other man.

He hated what he saw.

How had he ever thought that this smug, reptilian _creature_ was his friend? He must have been blind not to see the malice in those eyes, the evil that was inherent in those snakelike features. There was nothing good about this man. Nothing at all.

Hannibal represented pure evil. There were no redeeming qualities about him whatsoever, not in Will's eyes. He could see nothing but filth and decay on the other side of those bars.

He was thankful that he'd managed to get away from that decay.

How could he have been so blind? It didn't seem possible that he'd managed to overlook all of the obvious signs of mental instability that he could now see clearly.

It made his skin crawl to think that this _thing_ had ever managed to get into his mind, and had been able to manipulate him to the point where he had almost lost his life, as well as his sanity. He was just glad that his eyes had finally been opened.

Well, hindsight _was_ 20/20, he told himself. Now it was time to move ahead, and to concentrate on getting the answers he needed from this monster.

He was going to win this battle, dammit. He _was_ winning already, just by being the person on the other side of the cage.

He'd get what he needed from Hannibal, one way or another. He would find the answers, if not in the words that he could get Hannibal to say, then in the clues that those words would give him. Something was bound to trigger the memories that were hidden in the depths of his mind.

Those memories would be hard to face, but he had to do it if he wanted to recover the missing pieces of himself. He really had no choice in the matter.

He _knew_ they were there. They only had to be coaxed out of hiding.

"I know that you're here for information, Will," Hannibal told him, his gaze not leaving Will's face. "And who knows? Eventually, you may find what you're searching for."

"Meaning that you have no intention of telling me what I want to know," Will said flatly. "You're going to make me work for every little bit of information I can get, and then I'm not going to know if it's a lie or the truth. It could all be just another one of your mind games."

"Indeed." Hannibal actually had the temerity to look amused.

This was what he'd expected. But he wasn't going to let Hannibal have the final victory. Somehow, he would get what he needed, and he would be the winning player in this game.

But it looked as though that victory would be hard-won indeed.


	6. Those Days Are Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days when Will could look at Hannibal with anything but repugnance are long gone.

"Why did you do it, Hannibal?" Will finally whispered. "Why?"

"I had to save myself, Will." Hannibal's voice sounded cold and distant, but Will almost thought he could detect a hint of compassion there.

Compassion? Who was he kidding? This man was a monster. He had murdered untold numbers of people --and not only that, but he had used their bodies for _food_. It was the most sick, disgusting thing that Will could possibly imagine.

But he didn't have to imagine it. The man who had done such horrific things was right here in front of him, in a cage, behind bars. Where he belonged.

"But why did you have to blame _me_?" He hated that his voice was choked; he didn't want to show any sort of emotion in front of this murderer, this man who he had once called a friend. Though they had turned out to be anything _but_ friends.

"I wouldn't have let you die, Will." Again, he was almost certain that he could hear a tremor of emotion in that cool, modulated speech. "It would never have gone that far."

"You can't know that." His own voice was trembling now.

"I would never have let them give you the death penalty. Losing you was not an option at any time. But I had to mislead the authorities."

Will didn't believe a word that Hannibal was saying. He was absolutely positive that if it had suited Hannibal to watch him fry in the electric chair, or receive a lethal injection, then this monster facing him now would have watched calmly as he faced his death.

Hannibal had never been his friend. Hannibal had never cared about him, except to play with him as a cat would a mouse, or a child with an amusing toy.

He'd never been anything more than an experiment, something for Hannibal to bend and twist and turn to his own specifications. And when he would no longer bend in the contorted ways that Hannibal wanted him to, then he was thrown away like garbage.

Hannibal would always be a user, and a manipulator. He would never be anyone's friend, and Will was glad that he'd finally been able to realize that fact.

It was the worst betrayal he'd ever deal with.

Maybe Hannibal actually meant it when he said that he would never have let Will face death. But that was hard to believe, given everything else that he'd done.

This man wasn't his friend and never had been, and Will knew it. He was sure that Hannibal didn't feel any sort of friendship or benevolence towards him now. This man would try to use him to get out of jail, and Will had no intention of letting that happen.

Hannibal was right where he belonged, and this was where he would stay. He was a menace to society, a danger to everyone around him.

All Will wanted to do now was to get the answers he desired, the answers he _needed_ if he was ever going to have all the pieces of himself to make a coherent whole.

And that was going to be harder than he'd thought. Even behind bars, Hannibal was still delighting in playing his mind games; he would always be a manipulator, and Will was sure that he'd expect some kind of _quid pro quo_ if he provided answers.

The only thing he had to give Hannibal was some kind of bargaining chip for his freedom. Or if not freedom -- as that was impossible -- at least for more privileges.

Will didn't want to give him that. He didn't want to budge an inch.

He wanted answers; he needed them. But he wasn't going to sacrifice anything to get them. If he had to, he would find a way to _force_ them out.

There was a way to get this reptile to tell him what he needed to know. He had to play the same kinds of mind games that Hannibal did, had to get himself into that devious mind-set. He had to slip into the other man's mind, had to think like a manipulator.

That wasn't easy for him; it was foreign to his nature, and it felt _wrong_. But if it was what he had to do to get what he needed, then he'd make himself do it.

It was no harder than being inside the mind of a killer, Will reminded himself, and once he'd done that on an almost daily basis. But this felt different; this made him feel .... tainted. Maybe that was because he had once considered this animal in front of him a friend.

No longer. He would never think of Hannibal as a friend or colleague again. He had a hard time even viewing him as human at this point.

He wasn't human. He only wore a human mask, and it had slipped irrevocably.

That mask had shattered, splintering into tiny shards that could never be put back together again. Hannibal would never again be able to manipulate him, or fool him.

Those days were over, the days when Hannibal had any kind of control over him. Now, _he_ was going to be the one in control. If he had to be devious and cunning to get what he wanted, then so be it. He could manage that. If Hannibal could do it, so could he.

His gaze was locked on the other man's, and this time, unlike so many times before, he didn't look away, and he didn't flinch.

Will knew that Hannibal would try to draw him in with that hypnotic gaze, but the days when that had been the weapon that worked were over, too. He no longer had the respect for Hannibal that he'd felt before, and without that, Hannibal couldn't control him.

"I see that you've put up some walls since last talked, Will," Hannibal finally said, his voice soft and almost pleasant. "I wonder how long it will take me to tear them down?"

Will almost smiled at that. He knew the answer.

Those walls that he'd been building up before this moment arrived were strong. They might not be completely impenetrable, but he was satisfied that they would keep him safe from Hannibal's machinations. Hannibal wasn't going to be able to work his way behind them. Not this time.

He answered with complete confidence, in a single word. "Never."


	7. Two Points For Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is sure that he can't trust Hannibal to be honest with him about the reasons for all that's been done to him.

Hannibal regarded Will with a smile, one that Will wanted to wipe from his face. The smugness of such an expression made him want to scream.

But of course, Hannibal was under the impression that he still wielded some power over him, Will thought with an inward smile of his own. He couldn't know the depths to which Will despised him; he thought that his dubious charm could make anyone accept him.

Not this time. And in Will's case, never again.

He knew what it was like to have the full force of that charm turned on him. And for a while, he'd even thought that it was sincere.

He knew better now. He knew just what kind of a soulless, depraved monster Hannibal really was, and he was never going to forget it. He was never going to let himself forget that Hannibal had used him, and that this man had wanted him dead.

Hannibal had induced his seizures, which could have killed him. This monster hadn't told him about his encephalitis, which could have been fatal.

And he knew about all of the murders that Hannibal had committed, as did everyone. People knew what a perverted monster was hidden under that suave charm, that mask of seeming civility. This wasn't a man. It was an abomination.

Hannibal would never be honest about what he was. Will knew that. He might admit to the murders, but he would never admit that what he'd done was monstrous.

Still, Will wanted and needed some answers.

He had to know just what Hannibal had done to him, had to fill in those gaps in his memories. If he didn't, then those gaps would only feel as though they were growing larger -- until he fell screaming into one of them and couldn't pull himself out again.

He'd have to ask those questions in a roundabout way; he was sure that if he posed them outright to this man, they wouldn't be answered.

Of would they? Hannibal seemed to be proud of what he'd done, as though turning Will's life upside down had been some sort of experiment he'd conducted. He wasn't at all ashamed of how he had nearly brought Will's life to an ignominious end.

Will didn't believe that Hannibal wouldn't have let him die.

If it had benefited Hannibal for him to lose his life, then he would have. He had no doubt that he would have been sacrificed with very little regret.

This monster smiling at him from the other side of the cage wasn't human, he reminded himself. It was a hideous, loathsome _thing_ that only wore a mask of humanity. That mask had been pulled aside, and he would never believe in it again.

But he had to make himself approach Hannibal as though there was still some rapport between them, even though it didn't exist any more, and never would again.

"What is it that you want to know, Will?" Hannibal's voice was very quiet, the words almost a purr. "I might just decide to tell you, without any subterfuge."

Will tilted his head to the side, regarding Hannibal quizzically. What did this monster have to gain by telling him the truth? Absolutely nothing, which was why he didn't trust the words that had just been uttered. But maybe, just maybe, they were the truth.

Maybe Hannibal was giving him one small chance to find out at least part of what he wanted to know, giving him a taste of it before he began to play his mind games.

If that was so, then Will would take what he could get.

"Why did you feel that you had to frame _me_ , Hannibal?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet and steady. "You've always claimed to be my friend, and to care about me. Doing something like that proves that all your claims of friendship were lies."

"I did it to make you stronger, Will," Hannibal said, his voice equally as steady. "You needed to go through the flames of hell to be remade."

"Well, I'll give you two points for honesty," Will conceded. "But I was fine the way I was. I was developing a lot of strength from working in the field. I didn't need to have my head metaphorically forced underwater. That didn't make me stronger."

"Ah, I beg to differ." The bastard was actually _smiling_.

Will's hands clenched into fists as he looked into that smiling face. He had never wanted to hit anyone so much in his life, but he would refrain from violence.

After all, he didn't have much of a choice. And besides, why resort to that? Hannibal was where he rightfully belonged; he was behind bars now, and he wasn't getting out. Will had won. He had proven his innocence, and Hannibal's guilt. It should all be water under the bridge.

Only it wasn't. He still needed those answers. He needed to know what had been done to him -- all of it. He needed to fill in those gaps, put those pieces back together.

Until he could do that, he would never be a whole person again -- and Hannibal knew it. Maybe he had always known that it would come to this, and that was why he'd done all that he had. To make sure that Will would never feel complete again.

If that had been his true reason for everything he'd put Will through, then he would never be honest about that. Will was sure that his adversary would lie until the bitter end.

Lies were all he expected at this point.

"Why would you want to _remake_ me?" he asked, wondering what kind of an answer he would get to that question. He thought he already knew the answer: Hannibal had wanted to draw out the darkness that Will knew hovered within him, to make Will into his own image.

But he wouldn't know the truth of that until Hannibal told him. And as he watched that smiling face, he had to wonder if the answer would be what he expected to hear.


	8. Never Be Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is relieved that Hannibal is locked away, where he can never poison another person with his mind games.

Will's gaze locked with Hannibal's, neither of them backing down or looking away. 

Will wanted answers, and Hannibal was determined not to give them. They were locked in an impasse, and there was no telling which one of them would win.

How could he ever have thought this monster was his friend? Will asked himself. He could see no spark of kindness or compassion in those dead eyes that gazed into his; all he could see that deceit, something that he should have recognized long ago.

But he had been lulled into believing the fiction of their so-called friendship; he had become complacent and hadn't kept his guard up.

It was really his own fault that Hannibal had been able to get behind his barriers and cause him so much harm. But that would never happen again, Will told himself firmly. This time, he knew what Hannibal was, and he would protect himself.

And now, Hannibal was behind bars, where he belonged. He couldn't do any harm to anyone any more. He could try, but his poison had been neutralized.

Or had it? Will had to wonder about that.

Even though Hannibal was locked away now, and would never be a free man again, he could still manage to poison people's minds with his insidious lies.

He would never stop spreading that poison. Hannibal was a born liar; he was a psychopath, and Will didn't believe for one second that he could ever be rehabilitated or change his ways. He was happy wallowing in his evil, as disgusting as it was.

That evil was never going to lessen or fade. Will was sure of that. Hannibal would be a monster for all of his life; he'd never been anything else.

But as long as he was here, locked up, the world was safe.

No, that wasn't really true, Will thought with an inward sigh.There would always be more monsters. Hannibal wasn't the only one.

And he could easily spread his poison into the outside world, if Chilton was stupid enough to allow him any kind of contact with anyone out there. Will didn't think Chilton was that unwary, but he wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed these days.

He'd never thought much of Chilton's intelligence, but if the man actually let Hannibal talk to _anyone_ who could move freely in the world, he was crazy.

"You're looking for answers from me, Will." Hannibal's voice broke into his thoughts. "But you should know that you won't get them unless you give _me_ something."

"I'm not going to help you get out of here, or help with any kind of defense," Will told him, his voice flat and uncompromising. "You're right where you belong, and we both know it. You don't deserve to be out in the world, spreading your poison and hurting people."

"That kind of attitude isn't going to help you find the answers you seek, and it certainly won't talk me into giving them to you," Hannibal said reprovingly, shaking his head.

But at this point, Will wasn't sure he cared.

"I'll find those answers, sooner or later," he shot back, his patience gone. "You can hold them back if you want, but my mind will give them to me at some point."

Hannibal nodded, acquiescing that Will's words might be the truth. "Yes, that might happen," he conceded. "But how are you to know if what your mind tells you is the truth of what happened? Your memory is no longer the reliable instrument it once was, Will."

"Because of you." Will's voice was low and venomous, full of the hatred he felt. "Because of everything you did to me. You ruined me."

"I _remade_ you," Hannibal corrected.

"Again, _why_?" Will asked, his gaze still locked with the other man's. "Why would you feel like you had to change me? Did you want me to become like you?"

"Yes," Hannibal said simply, smiling and nodding, as though he was pleased that Will had finally guessed his intentions. "I wanted to make you more than what you were. To let you grasp the full implications of what you could have been, if you had let things continue."

"You wanted to make me a killer," Will whispered. "A conscienceless murderer, just like you are. You wanted me to mirror your own evil."

"Not evil, Will." Now Hannibal shook his head, frowning. "Not evil as I see it. I simply wanted you to be a reflection of what I myself am, a mirror of my own darkness. I wanted you to realise that such darkness lies within you, and for you to embrace it."

"I would never be like you," Will said, his voice very soft. "I'm a decent human being. I'm not a monster. I'm not a killer."

"But you could have been," Hannibal told him. "If I'd had more time."

"You'd never have succeeded," Will shot back, his voice growing louder now. "You might have made me _believe_ that I was a killer, but I'd never be what you are."

He knew the truth of that in his soul, knew that he would never be a remorseless murderer as Hannibal was. He might have been induced to believe that he could kill, that he _had_ killed, but he would never believe that he could be a monster on Hannibal's level.

No, the monster was locked away, where it should be, behind bars for the rest of its life. And the innocent man had been set free.

That knowledge brought him satisfaction, and brought a smile to his face.


	9. Signs of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has changed him, but not so much that Will can't recognize himself any longer.

Will studied himself in the bathroom mirror, not sure if he liked what he was seeing.

So Hannibal had wanted to remake him, turn him into a killer, make Will into his own image. Will knew that he had indeed changed, but he hoped those changes weren't irreversible.

He didn't want to believe that he could have become a killer. Yes, he had killed before -- but he had only done it to save an innocent victim. He'd done what he'd had to do, and he couldn't feel guilty about ridding the world of a monster like Garret Jacob Hobbs.

He wasn't at all sorry for delivering the bullet that had ended Hobbs' life. That monster hadn't deserved to live, any more than Hannibal Lecter did.

They were both monsters, both hideous, twisted parodies of human beings.

Neither one of them deserved to breathe the same air that decent people did. Will was just glad that one of those monsters was dead, and the other locked away.

And he himself was a free man, but he had changed so much in the time that he'd been unfairly jailed. Not just in the time that he'd been behind bars, Will told himself. He had changed irrevocably in the time that he had known Hannibal.

All fo those changes had been for the worse. He had learned to be more cautious, more wary of people, to lock himself behind barriers and to trust no one.

That was what Hannibal lies and manipulations had done to him. They had made him a man who would have an even harder time functioning in the world than he already did.

Which was what Hannibal had wanted, Will thought with a sigh. He'd wanted to have Will dependent on him, completely under his control in every way. He had wanted Will to turn to that darkness that every person harbored within themselves, to embrace it.

That was probably why Hannibal had framed him. The bastard had wanted prison to change him to the point where there was no turning back.

Hannibal had expected him to embrace that darkness completely.

Well, he hadn't done it, and he was proud that he hadn't. He had managed to hold on to himself, to the best part of what was within him.

He hadn't given in to the darkness, hadn't changed so much that he couldn't recognize himself within his own reflection. Yes, there were changes within him. After what he'd been through, there couldn't _not_ be changes. But he was still essentially himself.

Hannibal hadn't succeeded in changing Will in the ways that he'd wanted to. It had been a narrow escape, but he hadn't become the evil monster that Hannibal wanted him to be.

No matter what he had to do, he would be sure that change never took place.


	10. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'll never be like Hannibal, killing with his bare hands. Never.

Will sat on the couch in his living room, his head in his hands, pondering.

Did wanting Hannibal dead mean that he was turning into the killer that Hannibal wanted him to become? Was that change already so far along that it couldn't be stopped?

That was the last thing he wanted. He didn't want to become like Hannibal; he didn't want to think that he had any resemblance to such a horrific monster. He wasn't the kind of person who enjoyed taking life, or wanted to. He would never be what Hannibal intended.

Just the idea of becoming like Hannibal was terrifying. The thought of being a killer, of actually _enjoying_ the taking of innocent lives, made him feel sick.

That was what Hannibal had wanted for him all along.

Well, he wasn't going to accept that, and he wasn't going to let it happen. He wouldn't knuckle under to what Hannibal wanted. He wouldn't play that game.

Will straightened up, a scowl on his features. It didn't matter what Hannibal might want for him; Hannibal had no say in who he was, or what he became. Hannibal was not his master, nor his teacher. He might _want_ to be those things, but that would never come to pass.

Hannibal would never have what he wanted from Will Graham. He would never be an acolyte for such a hideous monster, or be complicit in his crimes.

Will held his hands out in front of him, studying them. He knew that Hannibal had killed some of his victims with his bare hands; could _he_ ever do that?

No. He couldn't, and he knew it. Yes, he had taken a life before -- but that life hadn't been one worth saving. Garrett Jacob Hobbs had been a murderer, just like Hannibal; a killer of young girls. And he would have killed his own daughter.

Will closed his eyes again at that thought. His daughter, who Hannibal had later killed. And Will had taken the blame for that, until he'd been proven innocent.

He'd spent enough time suffering for Hannibal's crimes.

No more, Will vowed, his hands clenching into fists. No longer would he be manipulated by Hannibal Lecter. Those days were over; he was older and wiser now.

He was the one on the outside, a free man, and Hannibal was behind bars. He was where he belonged; he would never taste freedom again. Will was only sorry that it had taken so long for people to realize just what Hannibal was, and to stop his evil from continuing.

Will took one deep breath, then another, calming himself. He would never be what had Hannibal had wanted him to become. Never. Not even if Hannibal was still free.

Even without all the pieces of himself in the right places, he was sure of that.


	11. Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feels that he has every right to judge Hannibal for the crimes he's committed.

"Who are you to judge me?"

Hannibal's tone was angry, more so than Will had ever heard it. If his nemesis was on the other side of those bars, the sound of that voice would frighten him.

But he had no reason to be afraid of Hannibal now, he reminded himself. He was safe; Hannibal was the one who was locked up, and he was the one who was free. He was on the outside, and Hannibal was a prisoner, exactly where he belonged.

He would spend the rest of his life behind those bars, and still, that wouldn't be enough to atone for all of his crimes. Not in Will's eyes.

Nothing could ever atone for all the evil that Hannibal Lecter had done.

And that thought wasn't just for himself, for all that he had suffered at this monster's hands, Will reiterated to himself. It was for all of Hannibal's victims, for all the ones who hadn't managed to get away, all the ones whose lives he had brutally taken.

And for what reason? So he could _eat_ them, make them his meals, as though they were no better than pigs, or lambs to the slaughter?

The way that Hannibal looked at human beings was revolting. Will knew that _he_ could never see other people in that way -- but then, Hannibal wasn't truly human, was he? He merely wore a human mask, and now that facade had been stripped away for good.

No one would ever be able to look at Hannibal in the same way again. He had gone too far, and now that his crimes were known, he would never escape the punishment.

Just putting him in jail wasn't punishment enough, Will thought, his fists clenching. He wanted to see this hideous monster _suffer_ for all that he'd done, all that he'd put people through. Not only himself, but the families of all his innocent victims.

He turned his attention back to the man in front of him, focusing on Hannibal.

"You cannot judge me, because you don't _know_ me," Hannibal intoned, his dark eyes meeting Will's candid blue gaze. "I gave you the opportunity to know me, Will. I would have let you see inside me. But you didn't want that. Instead, you betrayed me."

"You would never have let me see inside you," Will said softly, shaking his head. "You'd never have been able to reveal everything that you are to me. Never."

Hannibal tilted his head to the side, as though he was considering Will's words. Finally, after what seemed like an interminable silence, he nodded, then sighed. "Perhaps you are right, Will. But would you really have wanted to know?"

Will wasn't sure just how to answer that question.

 _Would_ he have wanted to know? Would he have wanted to see completely inside Hannibal, to tear away all the masks, pull down every facade that had been in place?

If he was honest with himself, the answer was a resounding _no_. He wouldn't have wanted to know everything about Hannibal. He would have wanted that mask to stay in place, not knowing what was behind it, still thinking that they were friends.

Friends? He almost wanted to snort at that word. Had they _ever_ truly been friends? The things that Hannibal had done to him precluded any kind of friendship.

Hannibal had nearly caused his death by withholding the information about his encephalitis. And he hadn't done _that_ out of any kind of friendship, that was for sure.

No, he had never been anything more to Hannibal than an interesting experiment. This monster might have thought that he could make some kind of human connection with him, but in reality, it would never happen. They were too different in their fundamental outlooks.

This .... this _thing_ looked at people as though they were nothing more than food, inanimate objects meant for him to use and not give a second thought to.

Hannibal was an inhuman monster, and Will was nothing of the sort.

Maybe he _was_ judging Hannibal, but damn it, after what he'd been put through, he had every right to do so. But he wasn't going to point that out to Hannibal; this monster he was facing wouldn't see it in that light. He still thought he'd had a _right_ do do all that he'd done.

That was what was so incomprehensible to Will. How could _anyone_ think that they had the right to treat someone the way that Hannibal had treated him?

How _dare_ this hideous mistake of nature put forth the opinion that it had some kind of divine right to treat Will as an experiment, to use him and lie to him, and still call the two of them friends? How dare he think that he could ever have gotten away with it?

But the fact remained that Hannibal _did_ think in such a way.

"I can judge you because I'm a better person than you are," he finally said, in answer to the question that his nemesis had asked. "I don't murder people and not give a damn about what I've done. I actually _care_ about being a decent person."

Hannibal raised his brows, his eyes darkening with anger. It was obvious to Will that he hadn't said what this monster in front of him had expected to hear.

He'd probably thought that Will would say he had no right to judge, Will told himself. But he _did_ have the right, just as the courts who had put Hannibal here in jail for the rest of his life did. He was nothing more than a criminal, and he should suffer for his crimes.

Will sincerely hoped that he _would_ suffer, each and every day that he was incarcerated. He hoped that Hannibal would forever grieve the loss of his freedom.

He wanted Hannibal to feel as hopeless as he had felt when he was tossed into jail through the fabricated "evidence" that Hannibal had used to frame him. He wanted his enemy to know just how he had felt, and to know that Will had turned the tables on him.

He wanted Hannibal to feel exactly like the prisoner he was.

"You can't judge me," Hannibal proclaimed, his voice calm and quiet. "You have no idea who I am, Will. If you did, then you wouldn't presume to judge."

"I can judge what you've done to other people -- including myself. How you've treated them. That's my right, Hannibal. That's the right of anyone who you've committed crimes against," Will told him, his voice equally soft. "And that judgment has brought you to where you are."

"You know what it's like to be here." Hannibal's voice lowered even more, his gaze boring into Will's. "Do you really think I deserve this? The loss of my freedom?"

Will didn't hesitate for a single second.

"Yes," he said, his voice firm and strong. "You deserve it a thousand times over. And it still wouldn't be a harsh enough sentence for all the crimes you've committed against humanity."

He could see the surprise written on Hannibal's features; that monster hadn't expected him to say those words, had expected Will to be on _his_ side. Was he _insane_? Will didn't think so. It was his hubris, his pride; it was simply the way he was made.

Hannibal would never see the error of his ways, never consider his disparagement of human beings as a crime. It would be sad, Will thought, if it wasn't so repulsive.

"You're barely human, Hannibal," he said, still keeping his voice very soft and low. "You aren't even close to anything I'd want to call human. I only do so because you're in a human body. But you're nowhere near even the worst human beings I've ever known. You're much worse than them."

With those words, he stood up without casting another glance at the man behind the bars; he turned and left the room without looking back.

He'd had enough. He didn't want to look at that reptilian face for another moment.

Yes, Hannibal Lecter deserved all that he'd gotten, and worse. To Will's way of thinking, he should have the death penalty, but that was, unfortunately, not on the table.

He _did_ have a right to judge, as one of the people who Hannibal had tried to make a victim. He'd been lucky enough to escape those machinations, unlike most of Hannibal's other victims -- but not without having some terrible inner scars to show for it.

But he could overcome those scars, Will told himself. He was already well on his way to doing so, now that his nemesis was safely behind bars.

Oh, he could judge, all right. And in this case, he'd already pronounced the sentence.


	12. Quest For the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is sure that Hannibal will never give him the unvarnished truth and allow his memories to fall back into place.

It was so frustrating not to be able to remember all of the past.

Will sighed as he sat by the banks of the river near his house, fishing pole in hand. Even fishing didn't seem to be helping him regain his sense of inner calm today.

This was usually how he tried to relax, to take his mind off all of his problems, but there was just too much swirling around in his brain right now for him to be able to push those thoughts away, to turn them off and let himself get lost in another world.

There was so much going on in his life, so much that he didn't want to have to deal with. Hannibal's trial, and trying to fill in the gaps in his own memory.

Just what had Hannibal done to him that had made some of memories disappear so entirely? How had he managed to clear the cache of Will's mind to the point where even if a memory might come floating to the surface, he had no idea if it was true or not?

He cursed Hannibal for that, and cursed himself for being stupid enough to trust such a monster. He should have never let anyone get inside his head.

Least of all someone who had the power to completely turn it around.

But he hadn't known what Hannibal was capable of when Jack had first insisted that he begin seeing the so-called "doctor," he told himself. That was his excuse.

He hadn't known what Hannibal was then, hadn't known that it would be dangerous to let such a predator get into his mind. No one had, not even Jack. They'd all trusted Hannibal; they'd all believed in that human mask he'd worn over his true nature.

Well, all except him, Will told himself. There had always been one little part of himself, one that he'd kept hidden, that had never completely trusted Hannibal.

That wasn't odd, really, as he'd never completely trusted _anyone_.

Trust was something that he reserved for those who he felt deserved it -- and to be honest, he didn't know anyone in his present phase of life who did.

The one person who he'd given most of his trust to was Jack, and that was because Jack was the person who had been most equipped to help him catch Hannibal and put him behind bars. But that didn't mean that he'd given his _entire_ trust to the man.

Oh, no. He would never do that. He'd never done it before in his entire life, and this definitely wasn't the time for him to let that wall down and start trusting completely.

Trust wasn't something he could afford to let anyone have.

In his quest for the truth about what Hannibal had done to him, trust wasn't a commodity he could give out to anyone. It was too precious, too fragile.

He'd trusted before -- though not completely, by his own admission -- and look where that had gotten him. He had spent time in jail, framed for crimes he hadn't committed, and everyone had turned against him. All the people he'd thought he could trust had turned away.

that was when his trust had eroded, when he had realized that the only person in this world he could ever count on was himself, and nobody else.

Even when people had begun to believe him again, there were still those who he'd trusted in the past who still thought he was a killer.

He didn't want to say that one name in particular, didn't want to bring their image to mind. it still hurt that someone who he'd thought he could trust, someone who he might have given such trust to, could turn their back on him so completely and condemn him out of hand.

That person was utterly and completely worthless. They had no place in his life, and never had. They were nothing more than a colleague now, not even a friend.

They would be no help in his quest for the truth.

No one would really be of any _real_ help, Will reflected. No one could find the truth but himself; he had to dredge it up from the recesses of his mind.

The only person who could help him was Hannibal, and he knew that monster too well to think that he'd be given any help from that quarter. No, Hannibal would enjoy seeing him squirm, knowing that he had all of the answers Will needed, but refusing to let him have them.

Hannibal would want to keep him squirming, keep him looking for answers, keep him under his thumb. He might even expect _favors_ for supplying those answers.

And even if Hannibal did give him answers, he could never be sure that they were the truth.

He knew enough not to trust Hannibal for any reason; he never truly had before, and he _couldn't_ give that trust now. It was an absolute impossibility.

Will smiled sourly, feeling that it was more than a little ironic that the one person who had the answers was the one that he couldn't expect them from. It would be so easy if Hannibal would simply accept defeat and let him know what he so badly needed to find out.

But no, that wasn't Hannibal's way. He would never make anything easy; he would always keep any kind of victim hanging on a string, making them work for what they needed.

And in the end, he might not tell them what they needed to know.

No, there was no trust to be given in that direction. And there were probably no answers forthcoming, even if Hannibal might hint that there could be.

How could he ever trust Hannibal to tell him the truth? If there was one thing he knew about that scheming creature, it was that Hannibal would always to turn anything to his advantage. If there was any way that he could keep Will guessing, then he wouldn't hesitate to do so.

He would have to access those memories on his own somehow. If he kept pushing Hannibal to simply give them to him, then Hannibal would be controlling him again.

He'd had more than enough of that. He didn't intend to be Hannibal Lecter's puppet any more. It had already happened once, but he was older and wiser now, more experienced. He knew better than to let himself fall into that trap once more.

Hannibal wouldn't have the control he wanted this time. Somehow, Will Graham was going to take control of his own life, and recover his stolen memories.

Whatever Hannibal had done, it could be _un_ done.

He could recover those memories, with or without Hannibal's help. It would just worry him as to whether his own memories were accurate or not, given what Hannibal had done.

That monster could very well have altered his memories, changed them into something that was dark and twisted and wasn't really what he'd actually done. And there was no way of finding out the truth; Hannibal obviously wasn't going to give him that.

So he would simply have to hope that his quest for the truth would yield fruit, and that his memories would come back to him clearly and with no artifice.

Will sighed, closing his eyes. Somehow, he didn't think that was destined to happen.


	13. Recaptured Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feels that Hannibal took away a part of his innocent belief in human nature along with his memories.

Hannibal had taken his innocence, along with his memories. It was a part of himself that he had cherished, a part that he felt he would mourn forever.

He had once felt that people were intrinsically good, that most humans could fight their darker urges and come out on the bright side.

No longer, Will told himself, shaking his head as he leaned back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't see the good side of human nature any more. He knew that it was there, of course, but it as though Hannibal's evil had completely obliterated it.

His own dark side called to him at times, but he recoiled from it. He avoided even thinking about it most of the time, but it came to him in dreams, beckoning seductively.

Was that what had happened to Hannibal, to make him what he was?

He didn't know, and he didn't particularly care. It was enough for him to know that Hannibal _was_ evil. He didn't have to know the reasons why.

Still, it was an intriguing thought. Hannibal had probably once been a lot like him; he'd had an innocence that had been ripped away from him. Will didn't want to know how that had happened -- or what could have been done to create such a hideous monster.

He was sure that it had something to do with the death of the sister that Hannibal had mentioned, but he wasn't going to ask. He didn't need to dig up the past.

Was that why Hannibal had taken pieces of his memory? Did he, in his warped, twisted, pathetic excuse for a mind, see that as a kindness, a mercy?

His own memories were probably so horrible that he couldn't understand how anyone could find memories comforting, especially memories that were painful ones. Had he thought that he was doing Will some kind of a favor by removing them, blacking them out into nothingness?

Will shook his head, scowling. Of course that wasn't why he had done it. Hannibal had destroyed most of those memories to save himself, not to help Will.

If Will couldn't remember, then he couldn't tell.

And that had been Hannibal's intent all along, Will thought, clenching his teeth. To frame someone else for his crimes, and to save his own skin.

Will felt that his innocence was buried along with those memories; it had been consigned to a dark grave, pushed away from him and hidden. But if he could recover his memories, perhaps he could find some bit of that innocent belief in the human race that he thought was lost.

Maybe his innocence wasn't irretrievably gone for good. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would be able to find at least a part of it again, and recover something of what he had been.

It wouldn't be easy, but nothing would stop him from trying. And once he recaptured that innocence, no one take it away from him again.


	14. Running From the Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Until he can fill in the blank spaces in his past, Will knows that he'll always be running from the monsters in his mind.

"I'll find the truth, Hannibal." Will's voice was flat, emotionless.

He had to work to keep all that he felt out of his voice. The anger, the rage that had built up inside him over time. That rage only intensified the more that he thought about what Hannibal had done to him.

How could he ever have trusted this .... this _thing_ that sat in the cage in front of him, contemplating him with such a steady gaze, so unblinkingly?

How could he have ever thought that Hannibal was his friend? If only he had those missing pieces of his memory back, then he would know _exactly_ what Hannibal had done, and he wouldn't have to guess at what could have taken place in those blank spaces that still existed in his mind.

But Hannibal was determined to keep playing his mind games, and not give him the answers that he sought. And Will had to figure out if he could live without those answers.

Hannibal was _trying_ to drive him over the edge, and he knew that. He _knew_ what Will was going through, and he was deliberately withholding information.

It was his way of tormenting Will, even from the position he was now in.

He should have expected this, shouldn't he? He should have known that Hannibal would try to maintain some kind of hold over him. It was what the bastard did best.

"Perhaps not knowing everything about the past will better help you in the future," Hannibal said, his voice mild. The tone irritated Will; Hannibal acted as though this wasn't important.

Of course, to him, it wasn't. He didn't care if Will had all the pieces of his personal puzzle; in fact, he had gone out of his way to keep those pieces from falling into place. He knew that Will was tormented by this; he wanted to drag that torture out, to make sure that Will never had closure.

He hated Hannibal for that. He hated these mind games, hated that he couldn't stay at least a few steps ahead of his nemesis and beat him at his own game.

Maybe he could, though. Maybe he could manage to make Hannibal think that he didn't need those answers now, that he had come to terms with those blank spaces in the past.

"I don't really need to see into those spaces any more," he said, affecting a nonchalant tone, and shrugging to add a bit of veracity to his claim. He knew that it wasn't true, but maybe he could fool Hannibal into believing that his words were sincere. "I'm at peace with the past."

But Hannibal shook his head, a small smile curving his lips. "No, you aren't, Will," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "You are still running from the monsters in your mind. You always will be."

Will shook his head, leaning forward, anger in his voice; he was unable to keep it from spilling over. "I don't run from monsters," he said through gritted teeth. "They run from me. You did."

Hannibal raised a brow, that slight smile still on his lips.

"Are you so sure that the monsters run from you?" he asked, those dark eyes fixed on Will's face. "They may be simply biding their time, waiting for the right moment to attack."

"Just like you did, huh, Hannibal?" Will answered, the anger flashing out, bright and blinding. He sat back in his chair, taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

This wasn't getting him anywhere. He wasn't achieving his goal. Lashing out at Hannibal, responding to his taunts, was only going to make him feel all the more frustrated, and it wouldn't get him any closer to finding the answers he sought. It would only amuse Hannibal, and make him feel more in control.

That was the last thing he needed, to give this monster any more control over him than he already had. He had to take that control back, wrest the reins of his destiny away from Hannibal.

"I'm not running from any monsters. I'm confronting them," he told Hannibal, not looking away from the other man. "I've stopped running. I'm standing my ground."

Hannibal gave him what Will could only call a pitying look.

"Until you have the answers that you've been seeking, you'll always run from those monsters, Will, whether you want to admit that you're doing it or not," he said, his tone almost admonishing.

Will could feel the rage rising within him again, but he clamped his lips shut and refused to let that venom spew out. He was done with rising to Hannibal's bait.

"You're wrong," he finally managed to say, knowing that if he kept up this conversation, he would end up saying things that he might regret, things that would give Hannibal more of a foothold into his subconscious. He couldn't let that happen. He had the upper hand now; he had to make sure that he kept a firm hold on it.

"I don't run from those monsters any more, Hannibal," he said, looking the other man in the eye. "I don't have to. The worst monster is behind bars, where it belongs. I have no need to run."

With those words, he got to his feet and left the room without looking back. But he could feel Hannibal's gaze boring into his back, watching him until he was out of sight.

Only then did he let out the breath that he'd been holding.

Only then did he allow himself to admit the truth. Hannibal was right. He _was_ still running, and until he had those blank spaces in his past filled in, he would never stop.

He had to fill in those blanks. He _had_ to wrest that information out of Hannibal. Because if he didn't, he would run until he dropped from exhaustion, and the monsters would catch up to him.

What would happen then, he didn't want to contemplate.

And at this point, he was getting too tired to run for much longer.


	15. The Last Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is tired of having to depend on Hannibal to ease the torment of not knowing what happened in his past.

He couldn't believe that he was here yet again.

Will leaned back in his chair, staring at Hannibal but not saying a word. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to give the impression that he could wait forever. 

Of course, he couldn't. He was here again, only a few days after he'd sworn that he was walking away from Hannibal for the last time, still trying to get the answers he sought.

Hannibal was just as tight-lipped, just as determined not to give him those answers, to torment him as much as possible. He had to know that Will felt he was slowly going insane, searching the depths of mind for those missing pieces, never quite able to access them.

Those blank spaces could be filled; he was sure of it. He just needed the right information for those jagged edges to seal themselves together, for those mental pictures to come to light.

His memories _could_ be intact again. Hannibal held the key; he only had to be persuaded to turn it in the lock to open the door to all that Will needed to know.

It was getting him to do it that was the tricky part.

Hannibal _knew_ that Will was suffering; Will could see that in his eyes. He was _enjoying_ the fact that Will was going through hell.

"You enjoy making me suffer, don't you?" The words came out unbidden; they rose to his lips before he could think about what he was saying. "You're really getting a kick out of this."

Hannibal raised one brow, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. "Out of your suffering will rise my victory, Will," he said, his voice measured and steady. "And you know that I like to win." He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest in an obvious imitation of Will's own stance.

Hannibal was playing with him, the way a cat plays with a mouse before the claws come out and the paw swipes down with deadly intent. Will knew that.

This was all a game to him; he cared nothing for what his victim might be feeling. Hannibal was still experimenting with him, just as he had done when all this had started.

"You won't win," Will stated, wishing that he could think of something to say that would throw Hannibal off his game, something that would give the other man pause and make him spill some secret that he hadn't been planning to divulge. He wanted to shock Hannibal, even make him angry.

"Are you so sure of that?" Hannibal asked, that small smile still on his face. "I may be the one behind bars, Will, but _you_ are the one who seems to be imprisoned."

His nemesis was right about that. And Will knew that he wouldn't be free of the metaphorical bars that surrounded him until he could fill in those blank spaces within himself.

But he couldn't do that without Hannibal's cooperation.

Those spaces were silent, staring at him, demanding answers, desperately wanting to be filled in, to become whole. He doubted more and more if that would ever happen.

Hannibal would never give him what he wanted. He knew that his nemesis would keep taunting him with the fact that he had in his possession all of the facts that Will needed to know.

Those facts would never be given to him. If he could ever get Hannibal to tell him anything, he would never be able to know for sure if what he was being told was the absolute truth, a mixture of fact and fiction, or an outright lie. He could never trust Hannibal to be honest with him.

This torment would go on and on, until it either drove him over the edge, or he learned how to come to terms with not being able to fill in those blanks, and closed the door on them.

Could he do that? Would he ever be able to make peace with the past? He was going to have to try, because it was the only way he would maintain his own sanity.

Will sighed softly, shaking his head in a pitying way.

"You're so focused on getting the better of me," he said, his voice deceptively soft, hiding the steel behind his words. "Yet you're the one behind bars, and I'm a free man."

Hannibal only raised a brow at him again, looking around the cage he was sitting in. "I may not be a free man, Will, but neither are you," he answered, his own voice barely above a whisper. "You are a prisoner of your own mind. I offered you a way out of that prison, but you turned your back on me."

"And I'd do it again," Will told him, deciding not to mince words. He was tired of these mind games. He was sick of always trying to fence with Hannibal, and never getting the upper hand.

He was done with it. He'd make peace with the past, somehow, and leave it at that.

He was tired of letting Hannibal force this suffering on him. He wasn't going to deal with it any more. He'd take the reins firmly into his own hands, and guide his own future.

"I'm still in a better place," Will told him, his own smile spreading over his face. "Because I can choose to make peace with my situation. Yours has been forced on you. And it isn't going to change."

With that, he stood up, casting a victorious glance at the man inside the cage.

As he walked out, he couldn't help thinking that it felt good to have the last word.


	16. A Betrayal of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that he can never trust anything Hannibal tells him again.

Why couldn't he stop coming back here?

He already knew that Hannibal wasn't going to give him the answers he sought. But still, he kept coming back, hoping against hope that the other man would break.

If prison hadn't broken Hannibal down, then nothing would. He should know better than to keep holding onto the hope that Hannibal would tell him what he needed to know.

Yet, something within him kept hoping that Hannibal held him in some regard. Why did he want to hang onto a warped, twisted kind of friendship that had really never existed anywhere but in his own mind? Hannibal had never been his friend. This man had never been on his side.

But a part of him still wanted to believe that Hannibal would have some sympathy for him, that this man would fill in at least some of the blanks in his memory.

Why would he continue to believe that? He should know by now that Hannibal delighted in torturing him; this man wasn't going to to tell him anything.

Hannibal would never do anything to help him.

If he was going to recover those lost memories, he would have to do it himself. He would have to go into the silence of his mind and try to navigate the pathways there.

Sooner or later, one of those paths would lead him back to the memories that he'd lost. The problem was, he didn't know how to find those paths. They were lost to him.

Maybe he'd be able to find them if he searched long and hard enough, but how much time would that take? Weeks? Months? Even years? It would be so much easier if Hannibal would simply tell him what had happened. If only a few of those gaps were filled in, then everything would fall into place.

But even if Hannibal told him some of what he needed to know, could he trust this man? Could he believe that what he was being told was the unvarnished truth?

No, of course not. He could never trust Hannibal again, not after all that this monster had done to him. He would never believe anything that Hannibal told him. He couldn't afford to.

"I know what you want from me, Will." Hannibal's voice was quiet, even resigned. "And you know that, on principle, I cannot give you the answers that you expect. A part of me would like to, but you and I are on opposite sides now. And I cannot be seen to be colluding with the enemy."

Will could only stare at him, wondering how they had come to this when at one point, they had been friends. Or at least there had been a veneer of friendship between them.

"What good is it going to do you to keep holding answers back from me?" he asked, hoping that his voice wouldn't break. "Nobody cares what you tell me now."

He shook his head, feeling frustrated, wishing that he could break through to this man.

"Once upon a time, I trusted you with all of my heart," he whispered, looking directly into Hannibal's eyes. "I thought you were my friend, who would never betray me. I was so wrong."

"It wasn't a betrayal of trust, Will," Hannibal said, sounding sad and defeated. "I was trying to make you into something more than you are. You were to be reborn, transformed."

"Into your image?" Will retorted before he could stop himself. "In other words, you wanted me to lose my individuality, my identity, and just become a carbon copy of what you are. You should have known that it wouldn't happen, Hannibal. I'm too much my own person to just disappear into someone else."

"I didn't realise that at the time," Hannibal admitted, his gaze not wavering from Will's. "I should have known that. In that respect, you have defeated me, Will. I commend you for that."

"I'm the only person who ever has, aren't I?" Will asked him, wondering if Hannibal would answer that question. He didn't think so; Hannibal was never one to admit to defeat.

"Yes, you are," Hannibal told him, his voice quiet. "Again, I commend you."

"There's nothing to commend me for," Will said quietly, shaking his head again. "You should have always known that good will win out over evil."

"I don't see you and I as a struggle between good and evil," Hannibal told him, raising one eyebrow. "I see it as someone resisting his destiny, much to my chagrin."

"You've never been my destiny, Hannibal," Will said with a sigh. "You just wanted to believe that you were. My mistake was trusting you. I don't know why my empathy didn't tell me from the first that there was something horribly wrong with you. I wish it had. Then I wouldn't have wasted so much time."

"Ah, but you would never have been on the trip that I have taken you on," Hannibal said with a smile. "Admit it, Will. I have enriched your life. You have gone places that you would have never been without me."

"Those are places that I wish I'd never seen," Will replied. "Places that no decent person would want to see. And now I can't unsee them. You haven't enriched my life. You've darkened it."

With those words, he got to his feet, leaving the room without a backward glance.

He didn't want to come back here again. He didn't want to look into those eyes, hear that voice. He didn't want to confront Hannibal again. He'd had enough.

But something told him that he _would_ be back. He would keep coming back, until he got the answers he sought. He needed them too badly to simply walk away, and Hannibal knew it. So in a way, that monster _did_ still wield power over him.

He hated that fact. He didn't want Hannibal to have any more control over his life or his thoughts. He had to find a way to get those answers without going to Hannibal for them.

How the hell was he supposed to do that?

Once upon a time, he had trusted Hannibal. Now, he had no one to put his trust in but himself and his own mind. Would he be able to do that, and to find the truth?

All he could do was depend on himself, and hope that somewhere in the murky depths of his memories, the truth of the past would finally be brought out into the light.

Once upon a time was long and far away. It was over and done with.

He had to focus on the here and now.


	17. Pieces of the Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wonders if it's a weakness for him to have this burning desire to make all of the puzzle pieces of his memory fit neatly back into place.

It was a weakness for him to need to remember the past.

At least that was what he'd been trying to tell himself, though he'd been failing miserably at convincing himself of that, Will thought with a soft sigh.

He shouldn't have such a need to know exactly what was in his past. He should be able to make peace with it, and to let it go. After all, Hannibal was behind bars now, and he was being punished for his crimes -- though in Will's eyes, that punishment wasn't nearly harsh enough.

But he couldn't harm any more innocent people, and that was the important thing. Hannibal Lecter would never kill anyone else again.

He'd made sure of that. He'd put Hannibal in prison.

He hadn't been back again, though there had been times when he'd wanted to. When his rage had built up within him to the point where he wanted to scream it out.

He had wanted to go to the prison, to confront Hannibal, to scream and rage and demand that this monster tell him all that had happened, to fill in all of the blanks that were still in his mind, in excruciating detail. He had wanted to beat Hannibal to a bloody pulp.

But of course, he hadn't done that. He wasn't Hannibal. He wasn't a killer, and he didn't accomplish his desires through brute force. He was a civilized man.

Was he right? Was it a weakness to have this need to _know_ exactly what had happened, to have all the pieces of the puzzle fitting neatly together in his mind?

He didn't really think so. He was sure that _anyone_ who had been put through all that he had would want to know the truth. No one wanted to have gaps in their memory, things that had been done to them that they couldn't reconcile with their waking world.

Hannibal had forced so much on him, and he had been naive enough and blind enough to let it happen. But he was seeing much more clearly now.

Maybe, in some ways, being in jail had helped him.

It had certainly shown him just what Hannibal was, Will told himself wryly. Only behind bars had his thoughts become clear, had he been given glimpses behind that mask.

Glimpses that he had been too blind to see when he had erroneously believed that Hannibal was his friend. Well, he wasn't blind any longer, Will told himself firmly. That so-called "friendship" was no longer a weakness, or a hindrance to discovering the truth.

Just as wanting to know the truth wasn't a weakness. He simply needed to know, to have all the pieces of his life fitting back together neatly, where they belonged.

Whether that would ever happen was another question entirely.

Somehow, he didn't think it would.

But he was going to try his utmost to see that it did.


	18. Untainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will shrinks from contemplating just what Hannibal wants him to become.

Will threw a stick, watching as Winston chased after it, barking.

He jammed his hands into his pockets, sighing softly. He had dreamed last night about killing Hannibal, about how good it would feel to rid the world of that noxious presence.

Did dreaming about things like killing Hannibal mean that he was slowly but surely succumbing to becoming the monster that the other man had always wanted him to be? Did those dreams mean that he was turning to the dark side of himself more and more?

He didn't wanted to think that could be the truth, but it bothered him more than he could put into words. He didn't want to become like Hannibal.

Just the thought made him feel dirty and tainted.

Will knew that he could wash his hands a dozen times, a hundred times, a million times, but that he would never feel completely clean again.

He already had blood on his hands. He knew that. But he could assuage his guilt about that by pointing out to himself that what he'd done had been in self-defense, or to help an innocent person. He had saved people by taking evil out of the world.

Hannibal had tainted him. That evil had spilled over into his life, touched a part of his soul, and clouded the very essence of his being with evil intent.

He hadn't completely turned himself over to that dark side of himself that he knew lingered under the surface. But there had been times when he'd come close.

Was it possible for him to become like Hannibal, with no conscience, killing for the pleasure of it, the power it could make him feel? Will shuddered at the thought, grimacing in distaste. If he ever became like that, he hoped that he'd have the presence of mind to end it all.

That was the last thing he wanted. He didn't want to be what Hannibal had tried to force him into becoming. He had the potential, but he repudiated it.

He wasn't evil. He'd seen too much evil to want to embrace it.

And he wasn't going to let this continue to make him feel dirty. He wasn't tainted. All along, he had done his best to fight what Hannibal was trying to push him into.

He had succeeded, Will told himself. He had faced that darkness within himself, and he'd beaten it back. He hadn't given in to it, to Hannibal. He had stood his ground, been his own man, and refused to let himself become something that was anathema to him.

Will took a deep breath, feeling better about himself now. If he had managed to stand his ground so far, then he could keep doing so, for as long as he had to.

He was stronger than most people gave him credit for. 

Hannibal couldn't push him into anything if he wasn't allowed the chance.

Will didn't intend to give him that chance -- not now, and not ever.


End file.
